


Silent Friend or An Acceptable Risk

by volley



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Episode: s01e12 Silent Enemy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26355559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volley/pseuds/volley
Summary: Trip turned to the Armoury Officer and Malcolm darted him a quick glance. “The aft cannon should be working by the end of day tomorrow,” Malcolm said to Archer through the comm link. This is my take on what happens between that moment and Malcolm's birthday cake in Silent Enemy.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Silent Friend or An Acceptable Risk

**Author's Note:**

> When watching Silent Enemy I noticed that Archer in the end says, “Don't get too used to drinking on duty. But you did your jobs pretty damn well yesterday." - That "yesterday" got me thinking that there was an entire day which had not been shown in the programme...  
> Grateful thanks, as always, to my beta readers Gabi2305 and RoaringMice.

Trip turned to the Armoury Officer and Malcolm darted him a quick glance. “The aft cannon should be working by the end of day tomorrow,” Malcolm said to Archer through the comm link, fingers busy flying over the buttons on his console.

Reed looked as tired and unkempt as Trip felt, but the relief on his face was clear, even under the unshaven beard. _Thank God for Lieutenant Malcolm Reed_ , Trip found himself thinking, just a few hours after Archer had made him aware of the fact that they knew next to nothing about him. The man certainly kept to himself but duty, in his personal vocabulary, came with a capital D. Jon had chosen his Armoury Officer well, Reed knew his stuff.

“You’ve done one _hell_ of a job,” Trip told him, clasping a hand to Malcolm’s shoulder.

Malcolm pressed his lips together. “I couldn’t have done a thing, without you and all our people, Commander,” he said. “Your idea of repolarizing the grav plating was brilliant, I only pressed a button.”

“You’re way too modest, Lieutenant.” Trip turned to all the engineers and the armoury men and women still scrambling around them. “You people have done one helluva job, you oughtta be proud of yourselves,” he shouted for all to hear. Everything stopped for a moment, and then there was cheering and clapping of hands, and a few oily rags flew in the air.

“With all due respect, you’re undermining the discipline of my department, Sir,” Malcolm said with teasing eyes and a wry smile that took the sting out of the words.

It was a welcome change from the prim officer and Trip chuckled. “I’ll make it up to ya: tomorrow I’ll help with the aft cannon. By now things should go smoothly.”

Malcolm leaned with both hands on his console and stretched his back, casting Trip a sideways look. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Commander. I’ll feel better once all three cannons are built and operational.”

Trip wiped a sleeve on his brow. “Don’t worry, I’m willin’ to bet that those aliens will leave us in peace now.”

“I sincerely hope so.” Malcolm cast a look towards the port cannon hatch, where some of his people were at work, clearly wavering between the desire to check on them and the need to call it a day; then turned to Trip. “Need any help with those plasma relays that blew out on B deck?” he enquired.

“What, haven’t you worked enough in the past couple of days?” Trip asked. He too felt quite exhausted now that the adrenaline had dropped to normal levels. “Nah. Hess can take care of that.”

They made sure things were under control and then both walked out of the Armoury.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Commander,” Malcolm said.

With a nod, as if building two cannons in a couple of days and repelling aliens who had come very close to blowing them out of the sky were just routine, he turned and left. Trip narrowed his eyes. Now that Jon had made him notice how little they knew about Malcolm, the man intrigued him.

 _I’ll see ya tomorrow, Loo-tenant_ , he silently echoed, his eyes following Reed’s form disappear behind a bend in the corridor.

\------

Hoshi rang the bell of Archer’s ready room, eager to do this last thing before going off her shift. It had been a tense day and she was planning on putting the hot plate in her quarters to good use. She cringed at the memory of the misunderstanding it had caused in the Mess Hall. She’d been so wrapped up in her “secret mission” to find out the Lieutenant’s favourite food that she hadn’t even realized how her words might be taken. Well, tonight Lieutenant Reed could have the entire Mess Hall to himself: she just wanted to take a nice long shower and pamper herself with a private meal in her quarters.

“Come,” Archer’s voice called.

Hoshi triggered the door open and let herself in. “Captain,” she greeted, standing at parade attention after pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She cast him a conniving glance.

“So?” Archer enquired with hopeful eyes.

“It’s done, Sir,” Hoshi said. Her mouth pulled up in an impish smile and she toyed with the Captain, waiting to be asked. After all, finding out what Reed’s favourite food was had not been a walk in the park. Let the man stew. Their relationship was comfortable enough that she felt she could allow herself a bit of ribbing.

Archer heaved a sigh, seemingly aware of her tactics. “What is it?” he asked. “His favourite food. Speak, Ensign. That’s an order.”

“It’s not pizza,” Hoshi began, “it’s not Indian food, it’s not swordfish, it’s not octopus, it’s not mahi-mahi, it’s not scallops – in fact, he hates fish – it’s not—”

“Hoooooshiiiii…” Archer drew out dangerously.

Hoshi cleared her throat, standing straighter. “It’s pineapple, Sir. Or at least I think so, based on some allergy shots the Lieutenant has been taking to be able to eat it.”

Archer regarded her in silence for a moment, a frown slowly creasing his brow. “I’m not going to ask you how you got that information,” he eventually said.

“You’d better not, Sir,” Hoshi agreed.

“Have you told Chef?” Archer enquired.

“Yes, and he’ll prepare a pineapple cake for tomorrow evening.”

Archer leaned back in his chair. “We should do something more than just the cake. Maybe a surprise party.”

Hoshi frowned. “Lieutenant Reed doesn’t exactly strike me like the party type,” she thought out loud. “Perhaps something small? Like just you, Commander Tucker and him? I think he’d be more comfortable.”

“Hmm, you may be right.” Archer looked up at her. “I’ll think about it.”

Hoshi sighed a contented sigh. “May I go now, Captain? I’m looking forward to a quiet evening, with _my_ favourite food.”

Archer chuckled. “You’ve earned it, Ensign. Dismissed.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Without further ado, Hoshi triggered the door open and let herself out. She was already headed towards her quarters, when she stopped, face pulled in a lopsided smirk. She really should… She turned abruptly and entered the turbo lift.

\------

Malcolm had stood under the shower for an inordinate amount of time. He’d probably depleted half the water allotted to him for a week, but he did not care. It was only with an act of willpower that he finally brought himself to turn the tap off. He stepped out of the enclosure, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his waist; then went to the sink and began to lather his face. Blimey, but he looked more like a thug than an officer. His father would consider himself a disgrace if he knew that his son had been going around the ship with a two-day beard.

He was half-way through when his doorbell rang. Malcolm stopped with his razor in mid-air and heaved a sigh. What now? He was strongly tempted to ignore the call, but after what had happened, it might be important. He tightened the knot of his towel and rushed to the door, fully prepared to find his SIC or Commander Tucker on the other side. The almond eyes that, instead, quickly travelled him up and down totally took him by surprise.

Malcolm froze, fully aware of his state of undress and of the fact that his face was only half shaven, the other half being covered in lather.

“Ah, Lieutenant,” Hoshi blurted out, before he could open his mouth, “I’m sorry, I…” She averted her eyes, fixing them on the deck plating and shifting on her legs uncomfortably.

“Is there… a problem?” Malcolm finally managed. He crossed his arms over his chest, in the silly and vain effort to feel less naked. This is all he needed, a repeat of the Mess Hall scene, as if the first time had not been embarrassing enough.

“I…” Hoshi brought a hand to her brow. “I’ll come back another time,” she said in a determined voice, turning to leave.

“Ensign…” Malcolm heard himself sputter.

Hoshi stopped and turned. She met his gaze, looking as ill-at-ease as he felt.

“I apologize about… you know, earlier,” Malcolm said. He might as well make a clean breast of it. “I was absorbed in work and totally misread your words.”

Hoshi tightened her lips, making endearing dimples appear at the sides of her mouth. “Actually, that’s what I came here for,” she said, eyes carefully avoiding straying south of Malcolm’s chin. “It wasn’t your fault.” A fleeting frown creased her brow. “Being a linguist, I could’ve been more… adroit.”

A crewman suddenly turned the corner in the corridor and, as he passed by, cast a quick glance at them, nodding a salute. Malcolm returned it, cringing. _How to end the day in glory_ , he mused.

Hoshi’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I’d better leave, before the ship’s grapevine is set in motion.”

Malcolm lifted his eyebrows. “Agreed.” A blob of lather fell from his chin, hitting the deck plating. Malcolm brought a quick hand to his face, probably leaving three finger marks on his soapy cheek, for he heard what sounded like a snort of repressed laughter.

“Good night, Lieutenant,” Hoshi choked out, turning abruptly, and going on her way.

 _Brilliant_ , Malcolm thought with an inner sigh.

\------

When Trip entered the Armoury the next day, he found that the place was already bustling with activity. At his workbench, Bernhard Müller immediately lifted his head and gave him a welcoming smile. “’Morning, Commander,” he said with a nod. He sounded in a good mood.

“Bernhard,” Trip greeted him. “Your boss around?”

It was a perfunctory question, for prim Lieutenant Reed would not be caught coming late for his shift unless he was on death’s door, and Müller lifted his eyebrows like saying _what do you think?_ Before he could speak, however, the man in question emerged from the aft cannon port.

“Commander Tucker, reporting for duty,” Trip quipped, with a mock salute. He was rewarded with a lopsided smile.

Malcolm waved a thumb in the direction from which he had come. “It’s awfully hot in there,” he said, “but if you’re up to it, Commander, you can lend a hand setting up the cannon’s arm.”

“Promises are promises,” Trip said with a playful sigh.

Crouching to get into the port, Trip followed Malcolm down the few steps that led to their narrow working environment.

“The cannon itself is being assembled by a couple of teams,” Malcolm told him, pushing back an unruly lock of hair. He cast Trip a quick glance. “Thanks for sending a few of your men, Commander. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

“My pleasure.” Trip inspected his surroundings. The assembly pieces had been neatly lined up. “I thought you’d be keeping a less menial job for yourself,” he said with an inquisitive frown.

In response, Malcolm picked up a bulky piece of machinery. “I’ll hold it in place,” he said, grunting with the effort. Jerking his chin towards the toolbox, he motioned Trip to do his part. “This might be a _menial job_ ,” he added after a moment, “but it’s equally important. And our people have proven to be quite competent, Sir. I doubt I’ll find any fault with their work.”

“Yeah,” Trip agreed without lifting his gaze from the job at hand, “we have some pretty fine minds in our departments. Enterprise 3 - Jupiter Station 0,” he said with a chuckle.

Malcolm shot him a funny look. “Well, technically, Commander, the third cannon is not online yet, but we’re getting there.”

They worked in silence for a while. The silence didn’t prove very difficult. Malcolm Reed _was_ a reserved man. Trip thought of what Jon had told him the day before, that Malcolm’s parents hadn’t even known what their son’s position on board the Enterprise was. What the heck! Had the man left Earth without telling them? Not a week went by without him, Trip, contacting his folks. His mama was proud as a peacock to have a son who was Chief Engineer on Earth’s first warp-five vessel. He wondered how the hell Hoshi had managed to find out about the man’s favourite food. The naughty girl was guarding the secret with her teeth and nails.

Unexpectedly, Malcolm was the first to break the silence.

“By the way, I haven’t disconnected the other two cannons from the impulse engines yet, Commander,” Malcolm said in a formal tone, eyes carefully averted. “Should I do so?”

Trip pursed his lips in thought. The question was a sensitive one, having led to a discussion between them when they were assembling those first two cannons. Malcolm had taken things into his own hands and bypassed him, and that had rubbed Trip the wrong way.

“Let’s keep them that way, at least for a while longer,” Trip said at length, seeking in vain to capture the Armoury Officer’s gaze. “I want to make sure the bad guys are truly gone, before we do the switch.”

“Aye, Sir.”

A measure of satisfaction could be heard in the two little words. Malcolm, however, still kept his gaze averted, as if unwilling to let Trip read it. Well, if the man was afraid that he – Trip – might feel embarrassed for having recognized, in the end, that Malcolm’s idea was the right one, he’d better think again. Being open to change was a sign of intelligence, and Trip was proud to consider himself an open-minded person.

“Done,” Trip said, throwing his tools into the toolbox and relaxing back on his heels.

Malcolm went to the control unit and pushed a few buttons. The vertical arm they had just mounted retracted and extended. “Right,” he said, wiping a sleeve on his brow. He went in a crouched position to his neat line of pieces and dropped on his hunches to pick up the next one, but then he turned abruptly and cast Trip an intense, narrow-eyed look. “What made you change your mind?” he asked in a husky voice.

Trip lifted his eyebrows in surprise. For all his alleged reserve, the man could be very direct.

“About letting you draw power from the impulse engines?” Trip shrugged. “It was the best option.”

The silence that followed told him that Malcolm had not been satisfied by the answer. As a matter of fact, his words had explained nothing.

“It was the Capt’n,” Trip admitted at length. He watched Malcolm’s shoulders tense in anticipation of what would come next. “It _is_ hot as hell in here!” Trip complained, wanting to take time as he wondered what to say. Blowing out a breath, he let himself fall into a sitting position and leaned back on his arms. Malcolm had stopped and was waiting for him to go on, one knee on the floor, one hand on the recently assembled piece of arm.

 _I rushed us out of Spacedock because I had something to prove, and I risked the lives of eighty-one humans, a Vulcan, and a Denobulan to do it_ , Jon had told him, eyes deeply troubled. And he, Trip…

“After our little divergence of opinion, Capt’n Archer came to me in Engineering to check on my progress restoring warp drive,” Trip began. He bit his lip. Jon had talked to him in confidence and Malcolm was a subordinate. On the other hand, Reed had worked his butt off to be able to defend the ship, and this was no military secret. “He was troubled because the Vulcans could not be reached. He seemed uncharacteristically concerned. He told me he thought he’d risked all our lives, by rushing out of Spacedock without all the systems online.”

“So…” Malcolm licked his lips. “You let me have my way to reassure the Captain, yes?”

“Yeah.”

Trip watched Malcolm’s jaw harden and heaved an inner sigh. It wasn’t fair to let him think that. He still remembered every word he had told Jon… _In the old days, astronauts rode rockets with millions of litres of hydrogen burning under their seats. You think they said, gee I'd love to go to the moon today, but it seems a little risky? I think if you asked anyone on board whether they thought this mission was worth the risk you'd get the same answer from every one of them_.

“Scratch that,” Trip ruefully amended. He rubbed his neck. “I told the Capt’n that every member of this crew was well-aware of the risks of space travel, and then… Well, the moment he left it suddenly struck me that the lecture applied to me as well and that if we wanted to stay in one piece maybe I ought to let you take that little shortcut, risk or no risk.”

Malcolm blinked. Breaking his immobility, he turned to get the next piece of machinery. Trip picked himself up and helped him lodge it in the right place; then rummaged in the toolbox for the appropriate tool to attach it. As they worked, their gazes crossed briefly. Trip could see there was something Malcolm was holding back.

“What?” he asked.

Malcolm licked his lips. “Just… Thank you for trusting me, Commander,” he said in a low voice.

Trip snorted. “As it turned out, Loo-tenant, I’m real glad I did.” He wiped a blob of grease off his fingers onto the leg of his uniform and saw Malcolm follow the gesture with slightly disapproving eyes. Why didn’t _his_ hands ever get dirty?

“So, are we finished here?” Trip enquired.

“Just about,” Malcolm turned to the control panel and pushed a few buttons. In the middle of his check, his fingers stopped, and he pivoted on his feet to face Trip again. “Since we haven’t served together long, Commander,” he said, eyes darting from the deck plating to Trip and back again, “I feel I should reassure you that I’m not the kind of person who will take rash decisions without weighing the consequences. I really _had_ calculated the risk carefully.”

He hadn’t sounded confrontational, but Trip still shook his head in a conciliatory way. “Look… we had both worked shifts on end, things were being done at warp speed, and then you went ahead and connected your guns to the impulse drive without asking me first… I mean: Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, the incarnation of _by-the-book_ , taking shortcuts? It put me on the defensive, that’s all.”

“I never meant to undermine your authority, Sir,” Malcolm said uncomfortably. He seemed hesitant to continue; but then, raking a hand through his hair, he spat out in frustration, “What good is an Armoury Officer without proper weapons? We were at the mercy of those aliens and without the cannons online I knew we really _were_ defenceless, as they were kind enough to remind us by sending us that bloody recording.”

“ _Bloody_ recording? Is that language becoming an officer, Lieutenant?” Trip wondered in his authoritative tone.

The look of dismay on Reed’s face was something. Trip’s chuckle took him equally by surprise. Unexpectedly, Malcolm’s mouth slowly curved into a smile. “I’ll let you know that I come from a long line of navy men,” he said, “I can do a lot worse than that.”

Trip grinned; then threw a hand up in a dismissive gesture. “Ah, let’s forget about what happened,” he said. “We scared those spooky guys off, and that’s all that counts.” He was beginning to like this guy. He suspected there was a well-hidden naughty streak to him.

Bernhard’s face appeared at the hatch. “Lieutenant, we’re just about finished assembling the cannon. A team has started on the phase emitters. What about the stabilizer?”

“Thank you, Ensign. I’ll take care of that,” Malcolm replied. He turned to Trip. “I believe I can take it from here, Commander,” he said. “Thank you for…” He glanced at Trip’s hands, which were still a bit greasy, and his lips curved up once again, “… getting your hands dirty to help the Armoury Officer.”

 _In that case, if the Chief Engineer wouldn't mind getting his hands dirty, I could use some help_ , Reed had indeed told him the day before, when Trip had agreed to let him hook the cannons to the impulse drive.

Trip gave him a mock salute. “All in a Chief Engineer’s day’s work, Loo-tenant,” he said, and headed for the hatch.

\------

_That evening._

“Did you get the cold beer from Chef?” Jon asked Trip in a whisper as soon as the door of Archer’s quarters swished open to reveal the Captain behind it.

“Capt’n, why are you whisperin’?” Trip wondered, lifting his right hand, from which three beer bottles dangled. “I have it on good authority that Malcolm’s in the Armoury.”

“Yes, but you never know when he might leave,” Archer said in an urgent voice, stepping out of his quarters. “His shift is nearly finished.”

“Him, leaving his beloved Armoury early, now that it is equipped with three – and I repeat – _three_ shinin’ new phase cannons?” Trip chuckled. “Believe me, there’s no danger.”

“I run no _risk_ of missing him, you think?” Jon quipped, green eyes dancing.

Trip smiled. If Jon was able to joke about dangers and risks, all was peachy again. “No, Sir. No risk at all,” he replied, and then, lifting his eyebrows, he added, “Especially because I’ve asked Müller to get everyone out of there. Malcolm’s _never_ gonna leave the Armoury unmanned.”

That got him a glance.

When they entered Reed’s domain, Malcolm didn’t even turn. From his post, he just barked over his shoulder, “Get the people of the next shift to report immediately, Ensign! Where do they think they are, on a pleasure boat?”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of pleasure, once in a while,” Archer said.

Malcolm jumped to his feet and turned. “Captain,” he said, standing rod straight. He frowned slightly as his eyes tracked to the beer bottles.

“I take it you don’t drink only tea,” Archer said, taking a seat on a torpedo launcher and motioning Reed to follow suit. Malcolm did so uncomfortably, looking like a boy called to the headmaster’s room.

“At ease, Malcolm,” Jon said, patting his Armoury Officer’s leg, “your shift has ended a few minutes ago.”

Trip filled their glasses and made a toast. “To our mysterious friends. I wish I could’ve seen the look on their faces.”

“Hear, hear,” Jon and Malcolm echoed.

“Don't get too used to drinking on duty. But you did your jobs pretty damn well yesterday. I'd say that deserves a little celebration,” Archer said, sounding very proud.

Malcolm was just beginning to relax a little when Hoshi arrived with the case containing the birthday cake, which made him once again very self-conscious. At least Hoshi’s secret mission was successful, the “favourite food” was indeed the right one, and that finally brought a full smile to the Lieutenant’s lips.

\------

Walking back to their quarters when all was finished, Trip gave his thoughtful and silent colleague a playful push. “Too much pineapple cake, Loo-tenant?”

Malcolm recovered his balance, seemingly emerging from the fogs of his mind. His lips curved up, but his eyes were hooded. “Never too much pineapple.”

“Then what?” Trip insisted. The hell if this man was going to hide in his quarters without telling him what was on his mind. They had shared a bit too much time together, in the past couple of days, and he was beginning to be able to read him.

Malcolm slowed down and stopped, and Trip turned to face him.

“It’s just that in our first few weeks in space we have already faced angry Sulibans, Klingons and Andorians,” Malcolm spat out in his spiky English accent, “not to mention aliens bent on sucking us dry of our lymphatic fluids, Humans who shot at us, and even enemies who, without so much as an explanation, tried to blast us out of the sky.” Malcolm shook his head. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a mission of exploration?”

Trip could sympathize. When they had launched, he had actually wondered how much work an Armoury Officer could possibly have on board the Enterprise. He looked at the tense man beside him. “Are you concerned?”

Malcolm once again seemed to snap out of some inner musing. He met Trip’s eye and straightened his posture. “No, Commander. Of course not. But it’s nice to know that I now have three cannons working.”

They resumed on their way in silence and stopped in front of Malcolm’s quarters.

“Yeah, our mission has turned out a little riskier than we’d thought, I’ll grant you that,” Trip thought out loud, as Malcolm triggered his door open.

Malcolm entered and turned to him, looking thoughtful. But then he briefly averted his eyes and, crossing his arms over his chest, pinned Trip with a challenging look. “Do you think it’s an acceptable risk, Commander?”

Yes, there definitely was a naughty streak to the man, which would be fun to fathom. “Having tested the proficiency of the Armoury Officer, the Chief Engineer finds the level of risk acceptable,” he said with a grin.

Something passed between them. A sort of camaraderie that hadn’t been there before. Trip wondered if Malcolm found it as surprising as he did, given that they were as different as white and black. _Time will tell_ , Trip thought.

“Sweet dreams, Loo-tenant,” he said, and as he turned to leave, out of the corner of his eye he saw the proper officer wince at the words. Before disappearing round the bend, he cast over his shoulder, “Don’t forget the Captain’s letting us sleep in tomorrow.”

A contented groan floated his way.

“Believe me, Commander, I won’t.”


End file.
